ZEAL

Why I love this word, especially on days that take more than they give.

I’ve been thinking a lot about this word lately, zeal.
A deceptively simple word with a kind of incandescent energy tucked inside it.
It has a certain crispness to it, like air that’s just been stirred after rain.
It suggests movement, intention, a subtle forward tilt of the soul.

Lately, circumstances haven’t been well….. easy. But then again, nothing that truly matters ever comes easy. Every task, every goal, every dream takes patience, grit, and a kind of quiet, stubborn effort. And when you’re someone who pours your whole heart even into the tiniest work you do, it can get taxing. It can wear you down.

It’s odd, being 21 and oscillating between feeling invincible and feeling inexplicably drained. When you care deeply, life has this uncanny ability to quietly siphon away your reserves.

And maybe that’s why this word keeps circling back to me.
Zeal.

The Sanskrit counterpart, utsāha, captures something subtler, not loud enthusiasm or flamboyant passion.
It’s that subtle, persistent ember inside you that refuses to extinguish.

In the Mahabharata, Krishna often reminds Arjuna that action without utsāha becomes hollow, mechanical, devoid of spirit. But action infused with even a small spark of inner willingness becomes meaningful, almost consecrated.

And when I think of utsāha, I can’t help but think of Abhimanyu.
Not the Abhimanyu we usually glorify, the valiant young warrior charging into the Chakravyuha, but the more human one. The boy who knew only half the formation, half the secret, half the map, and yet stepped in anyway. Not out of recklessness or bravado, but out of a quiet, resolute zeal to do what he believed was right.

And yes, I know I bring myth into everything, but that’s what growing up reading and watching a copious amount of Yakshagana does to you. Myth becomes a lens, a language, a way of understanding even the smallest shifts in your own life.

This reminder can ground us.

Because bad days happen, sometimes too many in a row. But it’s still just that, a bad day, not a bad life.

So maybe we can learn to notice the small sparks,
in the little things,
in the conversations that make us feel seen,
in the rituals that anchor us,
in the words we quietly whisper to ourselves when no one is watching,
in a moment that feels like soft sunlight,
or a laugh that arrives unannounced.

And if zeal can be quietly siphoned away, maybe it returns in the same quiet manner, with small, good moments collecting slowly, like drops gathering back into a cup you didn’t realise had been emptying.

Let the zeal flicker if it must, but let it stay.
Let it whisper when it can’t roar.
Let it glow even when it cannot blaze.

This zeal, this utsāha, is what makes us human.
And it deserves to stay.

Sometimes, zeal is just the willingness to try again tomorrow.

A glimpse of the days that refill the cup.